


"What Were You Thinking?"

by Kaiserkorresponds



Series: Kerosene [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angry Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Angst, Burns, Gen, Hospitalization, Hurt Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Medical Procedures, Mentioned Martin Blackwood, Serious Injuries, Sick Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, The Desolation Fear Entity (The Magnus Archives), The Magnus Archives Season 3, Tim Stoker Swears (The Magnus Archives), Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:48:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28425024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiserkorresponds/pseuds/Kaiserkorresponds
Summary: Tim stood on the sterile tiles, his chest heaving, and his eyes burning in a sensation that had become rapidly familiar in the past few days."Fuck, Jon. What were you thinking?"--The third installment of my Kerosene series, in which Tim confronts Jon about the severity of his injuries and about hiding them !!
Series: Kerosene [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2018218
Comments: 20
Kudos: 89





	"What Were You Thinking?"

"What were you thinking?" 

The words bounced almost deafeningly off of the dingy white walls, overriding the low whirring and beeps of machinery and echoing in back the tiny space. The sound of his own angry voice bouncing off the same bland hospital decor, the same cramped walls, and the same, damn clunky machinery that had been keeping Jon alive for the past week. 

Jon blinked slowly. Not as heavily sedated as before; but obviously still hazy under the influence of some strong painkillers, despite being technically awake for a few hours now if the nurses could be believed. 

"What were you thinking, Jon? What could you have possibly been thinking that would have lead to this?" Tim shouted again. 

"All–" He gestured with a tense hand to the army of machinery. The tubes, and the wires, and the bandages, and the frankly terrifying amount of IV's leading across Jon's non burned hand and out from under the scrubs they had changed him into at some point. "–of this." 

Jon blinked again, and a faint frown formed on his face. Almost a ghost of his typical irritated expression. 

"I'm not– I'm not sure what you mean." He said, his voice rasping in his throat. 

Tim felt his own face pull into a scowl. 

"You've been in a coma for three days, Jon. They had to use skin grafts for Christ's sake. You may never regain sensation in your left hand, or be able to feel hot or cold again. And your fever wouldn't come down under 40 degrees until they put God-damn ice water in your veins." 

"I know." Jon looked blearily perplexed, as if Tim's reaction was one that was unjustified. 

"Then you should know that you should've come to one of us. Or called 999, or gone to the fucking A&E yourself instead of collapsing in your damn office after who knows long of nearly being fried to death."

Tim drew in a ragged breath. 

"What was so important, Jon? What were you possibly thinking that you'd let yourself nearly– nearly die instead of shouting for one of us, or calling, or hell, sending a fucking text. All it would've taken was one word, Jon, just one fucking word to prevent this." 

Tim stood on the sterile tiles, his chest heaving, and his eyes burning in a sensation that had become rapidly familiar in the past few days. 

"Fuck, Jon. What were you thinking?"

Jon's dark eyes tracked him in a sluggish, hazy pattern that had nothing on his typical sharp stare. 

"I–" He croaked. "I didn't– wasn't thinking." 

Tim fought back the fiery burn in his own chest. 

"That's your answer? That you weren't thinking?" 

Something viciously bitter seeped into his tone and Jon flinched, as far back as the mess of wiring and bandages would allow. 

"I've– been stressed." 

"You've been stressed." Tim repeated flatly. 

Jon struggled to nod over the oxygen mask and the thick gauze taped across his throat. 

"That's not an answer, Jon." 

The crease between Jon's eyebrows deepened, and he stuttered a few nonsense syllables that were almost painful to listen to. 

Almost pitiful to listen to. 

Tim shoved that emotion down immediately, deep into the chasm that his own grief had fallen, and next to the remnants of camaraderie that Jon's prickly personality somehow still stirred up in his weaker moments. 

"You have to– you. Just, just think for more than two fucking seconds next time. I'm not sitting by your bedside again while you nearly kill yourself instead of asking for help." Tim said roughly, ignoring the catch of his throat, and the pained look rapidly overtaking the visible parts of Jon's face. "You got me?" 

Jon nodded again. Stiff and tense in a way that, for once, was pained rather than terse. 

"Good." Tim snapped the word as if it didn't burn all the way up his throat. 

"I've got to go. I've got business back at the institute. They say you'll be here for a couple of weeks at least. I'll tell Martin to come back, and to bring some books or something." He paused in the doorway. "Goodbye, Jon." 

He didn't wait to see Jon's reaction, or to scrub away the tears that streaked hotly down his cheeks as soon as his face was turned away.

**Author's Note:**

> Plz let me know if you enjoyed !! <3
> 
> Also this is *unofficially* gifted @ Traveller19 and @ xwingsandarchersx for encouraging me to continue with this on my last installment !! 
> 
> As always, my Tumblr is @ Kaiserkorresponds


End file.
